


(lost) before the dawn

by fandomlver, SailorSol



Series: Powers 'Verse [10]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Especially Tearjerker, Gen, I said no warnings to avoid spoilers, Proceed with caution, Tears will be Jerked, This is a tearjerker, This one might even be worse than the last one, all the spoilers from the last part apply, you are warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-02 11:18:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6564166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomlver/pseuds/fandomlver, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorSol/pseuds/SailorSol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trapped in the Dark Place, d'Artagnan will need all of the bonds he's built, old and new, to find his way back home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wildforce71](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildforce71/gifts).



Aramis is reading the letter again.

As far as Athos know it hasn’t left his person since Sebastian stumbled into the garrison, totally exhausted and shouting his name. He’s read it an average of twice at each stop, and if they were riding any slower he’d be reading it on horseback as well.

Athos himself read it only once. It was enough. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the weary, pleading tone, or the spots where the ink has run.

Aramis puts it away, at least, when Athos offers him a bowl of stew. They’ve eaten a _lot_ of stew. Inns are few and far between out here, and so far only one has coincided with nightfall. None of them are willing to spend time in an inn when they could be getting a few miles closer to Gascony, and Lupiac, and d’Artagnan.

Sebastian takes his bowl with a nod. Athos rather likes the boy. He’s mostly been quiet, aware that he’s slowing them down just because he isn’t trained for long rides the way they are. He clearly desperately wants to get back to d’Artagnan. More than once he’s tried to refuse rest stops. Staff at two of the staging houses along the way have told Athos that Sebastian refused all but the most basic care for himself on his way to Paris.

“We’ll reach d’Artagnan’s home tomorrow?” Athos asks.

“If we start early and ride through, we should reach him by the afternoon.”

“Then that's what we’ll do. Get some rest. I’ll wake you in plenty of time.” Sebastian nods, rolling himself in a blanket and settling by the fire.

Aramis has the damn letter out again.

“It wouldn’t have made a difference,” Athos tells him. “Douai or the garrison. The letter wouldn’t have got to you any quicker.” He and Aramis had been back in the garrison barely a day when Sebastian arrived.

“If I had not gone to Douai, I might have gone to Gascony in Porthos’ place.”

“Or I might have. I came for you because I’m familiar with the road to Douai. Without that, I might have gone to Gascony, and it would be Porthos here trying to beat some sense into your thick head.”

Aramis smiles. “He’d probably be having about as much success.”

“Get some sleep,” Athos tells him. “I’ll wake you.”

“For a watch,” Aramis says pointedly. Athos only hmms. He has no intention of waking either of them before he has to. Sebastian is exhausted, and if Aramis is going to perform a Healing he’ll need to be as well rested as possible.

Left alone as they sleep, Athos pokes at the fire and tries not to think of d’Artagnan, waiting for them.

 

Porthos meets them on the avenue in front of the house. Aramis has all but flung himself from his horse, but he hesitates when he sees Porthos’ face. “We’re too late.”

He nods grimly, but he addresses Sebastian first. “Sebastian, right? Edmond’s around in the stables. You’re to eat and go straight to bed. Thank you for bringing ‘em here.” Sebastian nods wearily, collects the horses and leads them off around the house.

“We’re too late,” Aramis repeats.

Porthos nods slowly. “Babette passed last night. Peaceful an’ quiet. Looked at d’Artagnan, smiled at him, and went off.”

Aramis has turned away, muttering prayers. “Where is d’Artagnan?” Athos asks.

“That’s the problem.” Porthos glances at the house; Athos follows his gaze, but they’re alone. “d’Artagnan’s Ability came back just as she was dying.”

Athos grimaces - that will have upset d’Artagnan deeply - but Aramis has paled, gripping Porthos’ arm. “Is he -”

“Yeah.” When he sees Athos isn’t following, he adds, “He’s stuck in the Dark Place. His sister Emilie’s here, and she’s seen this before, so she’s taking care of him.”

“What does his household think?”

“That he’s insensible with grief,” Porthos says bluntly. “It doesn’t surprise any of them. Emmy says he should be up and around in three or four days.”

“Can we see him?” Aramis asks.

“Yeah. C’mon.” Porthos leads them inside.

The house is dingy and dull in the way that only sick houses ever are. Porthos points out his own room but nothing else, leading them to the master bedroom at the front of the house. This room, at least, is sunny and bright. d’Artagnan’s resting in his bed, and he looks asleep rather than in pain. A dark haired woman a few years older than d’Artagnan is sitting beside him, talking quietly in Gascon; she trails off when she sees them come in.

“Lady Emilie,” Porthos says formally, “Captain Athos, and Aramis, of the Musketeers.”

Athos bows. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get here sooner, my lady.”

“Emmy. Emilie, if you really must. You’re the Musketeer Charles sent for?”

“I am.” Aramis takes half a step forward. “I’m so sorry we’re too late.”

“So am I,” she murmurs. “I’m sure you did your best,” she adds more loudly. “He’ll be pleased to see you here, when he wakes up. I know that he missed you very much.”

“As we missed him,” Athos agrees.

Emilie stands, glancing between them. “You’ll want to visit with him. Lunch will be up in about forty five minutes; he’s swallowing, so we’ve been giving him soups, stews.”

Aramis nods. “That sounds fine.”

She’s barely out the door when he sits, one glove stripped off and fingers wrapping around d’Artagnan’s wrist. It only takes a moment for him to shake his head, though. “Nothing,” he says with a sigh. “It’s like he’s dreaming, but somewhere very far away. I can barely sense him.”

“Emmy says he always wakes out of this,” Porthos says firmly. “We’ve just got to give him time. An’ speaking of time,” he adds to Athos, “when you’re ready, I need you to come with me. We’re going to need you, I think.”


	2. Chapter 2

Aramis stays with d’Artagnan when Emilie returns with the food. Athos follows Porthos downstairs, through a handful of closed up rooms to a study where another man is working on paperwork.

“Captain Athos, meet Leroux, d’Artagnan’s assistant. Leroux, Captain Athos of the Musketeers.”

Leroux stands to shake his hand. “Captain. d’Artagnan has spoken of you. I don’t believe he mentioned your rank.”

“It’s new,” Athos says absently. “Porthos said that you might have need of me?”

Leroux glances questioningly at Porthos. “Father Jean-Marc,” he says, slumping into the nearest chair.

“Ah. Yes.” He turns back to Athos. “Our local priest,” he explains. “d’Artagnan is - not fond of him, though he hasn’t explained why. The news will be in the village by now. Father Jean-Marc will be here soon to arrange the burial.”

“We want to wait until he wakes up,” Porthos adds. “You know it’ll kill him if he’s not there to say goodbye.”

“Where is the - Babette now?”

“In the ice house.” Porthos winces as he says it. “Emilie an’ me cleaned her up, dressed her up pretty and laid her in. We have some time to wait for d’Artagnan.”

Athos nods. “He is her father; he should certainly be afforded the chance to say goodbye. We shall wait.”

“Great, an’ you’ll say that to Father Jean-Marc?”

“Certainly. Monsieur Leroux, is there anything else I can help you with now? I’ve some experience at administration.”

Leroux puts him to work sorting through reports. Porthos stays for a while before wandering off.

Athos works for a while in silence, apart from the necessary questions. “These are well organised,” he says finally. “Your influence, or d’Artagnan’s?”

“A little of both.”

“I ask only because he had little experience in this kind of work when he left us. If he’s gained it here, I’m glad to hear it.”

“He takes his work very seriously,” Leroux tells him. “He’s determined to do his best.”

“Yes, he always was,” Athos agrees. “I was sorry to hear of his bereavement.”

“Were you,” Leroux murmurs.

“Pardon?”

Leroux glances up. “You seemed unaware of his marriage. I handle his letters; he hasn’t sent or received anything from you since he got here.”

“d’Artagnan left us under - strained circumstances. We thought it best to allow him to dictate the pace of our correspondence.”

“I see.”

Athos starts and rejects several answers. “Was he happy here?” he asks finally.

Leroux is silent for several moments before responding. “Yes. He cared for Madeline very much. And the people are fond of him. The household, especially.”

“He always did have the knack for making people love him. That hasn’t changed, whatever else has.” Athos doesn’t quite mean to be heard.

“He has grown more comfortable with himself, in my opinion, since coming here. The job suits him well.”

“I’m glad.” Athos stares unseeingly at the sheets in front of him. “We should have checked on him sooner,” he murmurs.

“Leaving Paris was his choice, yes?” Leroux asks. There’s a slight edge in his tone, but nothing that Athos can call out.

“He - sustained injuries that left him unable to serve with us. He could have joined another regiment, but - when the king heard that he planned to leave Paris, he appointed him Intendant and refused to listen to his protests.”

“You expected to be able to come here and have him be grateful for the offer to return.”

“I thought he should have the choice. The - restrictions that kept him from serving have been relaxed because of the war.”

“You hadn’t expected that he made a life for himself here.” There’s no accusation in the tone; it’s just a statement.

“No,” Athos admits. “He didn’t want the job. It had not occurred to me that he would find - fulfilment in it.”

“A man can find fulfillment in many things, if he sets his mind to it. Certainly, he struggled at first. Madeline and -” He has to pause and swallow. “And the baby were a boon.”

“He loved them.”

“Yes.”

Athos is silent for a moment. “You know him best now. Do you think he’ll stay?” As soon as he heard of the child, he expected to have d’Artagnan tell them he wants to stay, but now that she’s dead...

“I don’t know,” Leroux says, hesitantly. “Now that... But he may consider it his duty to stay.”

“He is doing good here,” Athos agrees. “If that is his choice, we will wish him well. And stay in better touch,” he adds dryly.

Porthos sticks his head in. “Father Jean-Marc’s on his way up the avenue, he’ll be here in a minute.”

“Thank you,” Leroux says. “See that he is brought here immediately.”

Porthos nods, ducking back out. Athos finishes the report he’s reading and tidies his stack neatly. “How would you like me to behave?”

“However you feel necessary. It is not my place to tell you otherwise.”

“Does d’Artagnan have a will, that you know of?”

“I... if he does, he has not shown it to me,” Leroux says.

“Shame. If he’d chosen an executor, we might have leverage over the good father.” He straightens as Porthos returns, stepping around to stand at Leroux’s shoulder.

“Father, thank you for coming,” Leroux greets the priest. “I am sure you have heard the news by now.”

“Indeed,” Father Jean-Marc says, blessing himself. “Terrible news, so much sadness for poor Charles.” He makes a point of looking around. “I would like to deliver my condolences in person…?”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible at the moment. He is stricken with grief.”

“Yes, of course,” Father Jean-Marc murmurs. “He is in my prayers. As are you all,” he adds magnanimously.

“Thank you,” Leroux nods. “I will be taking care of the funeral arrangements.”

“I am of course available at your convenience. Best to get these things done quickly, I’ve found, so that those left behind may start to move forward. Perhaps tomorrow?”

“Not tomorrow. Three days from now. d’Artagnan will be ready, then.”

Father Jean-Marc frowns. “You wish to leave the poor child above ground for three more days?”

Athos shifts, just a little. “d’Artagnan will want to be present, Father.”

“Forgive me. This is Captain Athos, of the Musketeers,” Leroux says when he sees Father Jean-Marc’s questioning look. “He served with d’Artagnan.”

“Ah, yes,” Father Jean-Marc says. “How delightful to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Athos says, completely flat.

Porthos speaks up from behind Father Jean-Marc. “Leroux, maybe we should ask the priest who baptised Babette to bury her.”

Father Jean-Marc stiffens.

“Yes, perhaps that would be wise. I’m sure Father Armand would be more than willing to fulfill our requests.”

“Father Armand is sadly occupied three days from now,” Father Jean-Marc says.

“We could wait an extra day,” Athos says calmly. He’s not sure exactly what Porthos is doing, but if he thinks Jean-Marc is better off away from this, Athos will go along with it.

“We will need at least the three days for the rest of the arrangements,” Leroux says. “Friday is the earliest.”

“I am available on Friday,” Father Jean-Marc says pointedly.

“Then we will set the funeral for then,” Leroux says with finality.

“Excellent. I shall make the arrangements and let you know.” Father Jean-Marc looks around the room. “Pleased to meet you,” he says, aiming it somewhere between Athos and Porthos.

Leroux nods in dismissal. Father Jean-Marc sniffs, but leaves. Porthos trails after him.

“That was a success?” Athos murmurs.

Leroux sighs and shrugs. “I’d like to send word to Father Armand, regardless. I’m sure d’Artagnan would prefer having him. But Father Jean-Marc is the local priest.”

“Send the message. It’s not uncommon to have more than one priest at such an event. Is there anyone else who needs to be informed? In the village, perhaps?”

“I’m sure many of the villagers will wish to come. I have already sent word to Madeline’s family.”

Athos nods. “Under other circumstances, I would send to Paris. There’s little point now, though.” He sighs. “Thank you for your care, Leroux. I’m glad he has had you to lean on.”

Leroux nods. “If there is anything I can do, please let me know.”

“I will, thank you. If you’ve no objection, I’ll go and sit with d’Artagnan for a while.”

Leroux nods again. Athos bows his head, just a little, and heads upstairs to sit with d’Artagnan.


	3. Chapter 3

Aramis and Athos arrived on Monday. d’Artagnan had been unconscious since the Sunday night and should, according to Emilie, be waking up on Wednesday or Thursday. Athos finds himself spending most of his time in d’Artagnan’s room, along with the others and Emilie.

They’re all getting tenser and tenser as time passes and he shows no sign of waking. Porthos gets louder; Aramis gets quieter. Emilie seems to be getting more formal, but Athos isn’t really familiar enough with her to tell. He himself is making a concerted effort to stay away from any alcohol.

Wednesday night passes. Thursday morning passes. Thursday noontime passes. d’Artagnan isn’t moving.

Emilie is called away to deal with some kind of detail about the ceremony the next day. Aramis follows her to the door, locks it and turns to the others. “I have to try.”

“You said you couldn’t sense him,” Athos points out.

“That was then. He should be closer to waking now.”

“This isn’t an injury,” Porthos protests. “It isn’t something you can fix. Do you think you can help him?”

“I think I have to try. He has to be ready for tomorrow, he’ll never forgive himself if he isn’t.”

“It’s dangerous for you.” Athos keeps his tone neutral. If Aramis genuinely thinks he can help, that’s one thing, but if this is some attempt to expunge his guilt, Athos can’t let it go ahead.

“I imagine it will be rather like trying to Heal you,” Aramis agrees.

“I don’t like it,” Porthos says flatly. “You know what even a regular Healing can do to you, and this’ll be something far worse.”

“It matters rather less if I don’t make it to the ceremony.”

Athos sighs, rubbing his face briefly. “If we don’t like what we see, we _will_ put a stop to it,” he warns Aramis. That might upset him, but it’ll hurt less than forcing a Healing will.

Aramis nods quickly, stripping off his gloves. He rounds the bed and settles beside d’Artagnan. _At least if he collapses, he won’t have far to fall,_ Athos thinks grimly.

Porthos positions himself at the foot of the bed, where he can see Aramis clearly, and nods. Aramis wraps both hands around d’Artagnan’s wrist and closes his eyes.

For a long time nothing happens. Aramis’ eyes are closed; every so often he mouths words, but there’s never any sound to them. Porthos is watching closely, looking back and forth between Aramis and d’Artagnan as though he can trace what’s going on.

Athos frowns, leaning forward a little. “He’s going pale.”

Porthos follows his gaze to Aramis. Scowling, he strips off a glove and leans forward to touch Aramis’ cheek. “Cold, too.”

“That’s not normal,” Athos notes, far more calmly than he feels.

“No. It’s not.”

“How far…?” He lets the question hang. Aramis is under his command, but he always defers to Porthos in matters of his health.

Porthos scowls again, carefully easing Aramis down onto his side. Aramis goes without resistance, but his grip doesn’t budge. “If he’s actually doing it, and we pull him out…”

“If he’s trapped down there too, and we pull him out,” Athos points out.

Porthos is silent.

Athos watches for another minute, counting under his breath. “Porthos, his breathing’s slowing.”

“What?” Porthos leans over again, checking his pulse. “Ok. Enough. You get d’Artagnan, I’ll take Aramis.” Athos rounds the bed, leaning over d’Artagnan to grip his wrist beside Aramis’ hands. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

“Go.”

Athos pries Aramis’ hands off. Porthos wraps an arm around his chest and pulls.

“No!” Aramis scrabbles against him, reaching desperately for d’Artagnan. “No, I have him, let me _go_! I have to get him _back_!” Startled, Porthos lets go, and Aramis curls himself around d’Artagnan, one hand on his wrist, one on his jaw. “Come on, d’Artagnan, come back,” he croons. “Follow me, come on, nearly there…” He’s paling again, but his eyes are open and he’s talking. “Come on, we’re here...Athos, speak.”

Athos blinks, surprised by the command. “d’Artagnan -” He runs out of words and starts over. “We are here, d’Artagnan. Waiting for you. Please come home.”

Aramis is trembling, pushing everything he has into this. Porthos shakes his head as he watches. “Aramis, it’s killing you, you have to stop…”

“He’s so close, I can’t, I need -”

“ ‘Mis, _stop_ …”

d’Artagnan gasps in a breath. His eyes fly open and he stares at Athos, bewildered. “ ‘Thos - here?”

“Yes,” Athos says quietly, gratefully. “Yes, d’Artagnan, we are here.”


	4. Chapter 4

Athos offers to help d’Artagnan dress and get ready the next morning. Aramis is still sleeping, exhausted; Porthos escorts Emilie to check on the last minute details that always seem to come up on occasions like this.

d’Artagnan is still pale, and under different circumstances, Athos would have tried to make him rest longer. “Are you ready for this?” he asks, as neutral as he can.

d’Artagnan glances towards him without meeting his eyes. “No. Were you ready to bury Thomas?” It’s a simple question, no intent to hurt him.

“No.” Athos wishes there was more he could do to help, some way to offer comfort that doesn’t exist. “Father Jean-Marc will be waiting.”

d’Artagnan looks up, frowning. “Father Jean-Marc is doing the ceremony?”

“Father Armand is planning on attending as well.”

“I’d rather he led,” d’Artagnan mutters, “at least he wouldn’t have turned on her.”

“Turned on her?”

“If she developed an Ability. Father Jean-Marc is very -” he catches himself. “Pro Church law,” he says carefully. “And Babette more likely than not would have.”

“Ah.” He’d known Gascony is more conservative than most places in France. “There is still time to arrange... an accident.” The offer isn’t meant in jest.

“He’s a priest,” d’Artagnan says wearily, “you can’t hurt him.”

Athos shrugs carefully. “If you wish.”

d’Artagnan rubs at his face. “No,” he says abruptly. “I don’t want him near my daughter. Do - something, if you think you can.”

“I will see it taken care of. d’Artagnan...”

“Mmm?” 

He sighs and shakes his head. “Never mind. Is there anything else you need, before...?”

“No, what were you going to say?”

“I’m sorry.”

d’Artagnan frowns, studying him. “For…”

“When you left, we...” Words are not easy. “I should have written to you.”

“You’ve been busy, Porthos tells me. Foiling attempted treason and murder and regicide.”

He shakes his head, hoping his emotions are at least coming across more clearly than his words. “Regardless, I am sorry. If we had kept in closer touch, perhaps one of us would have been here sooner.”

“I could have written to you,” d’Artagnan points out. “It would have been easier for me, letters go from here to the palace regularly.”

“It’s in the past now,” Athos says. “I should go take care of... Things.”

“Athos?” d’Artagnan says quickly. “I’m glad you’re here now.”

Athos closes the distance between them and pulls d’Artagnan into a hug.

d’Artagnan holds on for a moment before pushing lightly, taking a step back. “I’m going to take a few minutes to myself,” he says carefully. “I’ll be down in about five minutes. I’ll be ready then.”

Athos nods and excuses himself to find Porthos.

 

The service is every bit as awful as Athos expected. Babette is being buried beside her mother, in the churchyard on the edge of the village. d’Artagnan stands, pale and trembling minutely, apparently listening to Father Armand. Without even talking to him, Athos likes him better than Father Jean-Marc.

He doesn’t know what Porthos did - he specified only no serious injuries, in deference to d’Artagnan. Porthos promised to take care of it, and he has. There’s no sign of Father Jean-Marc at all.

Emilie stands with d’Artagnan, guiding him with touches and quiet murmurs. Athos and Porthos are behind him. Aramis tried to attend, but when he almost fell getting out of bed Athos ordered him back into it and threatened to tie him down when he protested.

The household are gathered to one side, and behind them row after row of the villagers are arranged. d’Artagnan seemed surprised to see them there. Athos hopes it’s helping him, all these people here for him, grieving for him, thinking of him.

The man who must be Madeline’s brother is standing with Emilie’s husband and children. Athos is keeping an eye on them. If there’s going to be trouble, it’s likely to come from one of those two men. Porthos has told him about Gustav’s last visit, and the brother has lost his only sibling to d’Artagnan. Grief has a way of making people angry.

Father Armand keeps the service short and focused on the love Madeline and Babette gave and received during their lives. When it’s time to carry the tiny coffin, Athos and Porthos step forward. d’Artagnan waves them both back. He lifts it himself, cradled in his arms, and lays it gently in the hole. He stays kneeling beside it until Emilie moves to help him back to his feet, whispering quietly in Gascon.

Athos waits until they’re a few feet away to move forward, taking a handful of earth and sprinkling it over the coffin. “I’m sorry I didn’t meet you,” he murmurs. “I’ll try and take care of your papa, if he’ll let me.” He steps aside for Porthos.

By the time the last villager has passed by, the coffin is buried. d’Artagnan makes a muffled noise, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t fall. Father Armand closes the ceremony and Leroux starts moving people back towards the house. Porthos makes sure the husband and brother go, leaving d’Artagnan with them and Emilie.

“Do you need some time?” Emilie asks quietly.

d’Artagnan shakes his head. “No. Thank you.” He looks at Athos and Porthos. “Thank you.”

“ ‘Course,” Porthos says. “I’m going to check on Aramis, but I’ll be back in a couple of minutes, yeah?”

“Bring him something to eat. I think everyone in the village brought something. Madame Dupont won’t have to cook for days.”

Porthos nods, jogging away. Athos studies d’Artagnan. He doesn’t like his tone. “d’Artagnan, are you shielding?”

“No.”

“Do you think perhaps you should?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“d’Artagnan…”

“No, Athos.”

“The grief can’t be helping you…”

“Do you think anyone’s grieving more than I am?” he asks evenly. “No. Even grief is better than the nothing I’ve been living with.”

“We trust you,” Emilie tells him. “But if it starts to wear on you, come and find one of us so we can help, yes?”

He smiles faintly. “Yes, Emmy.”

“Good.” She touches his cheek lightly.

d’Artagnan looks at Athos. “Stay close?”

“Always,” he promises, following them back across the fields towards the courtyard of the house.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late, guys; I've no laptop at the moment, and doing this from my phone is almost impossible.

Most of the villagers have the sense not to stay too long, murmuring _I’m sorry_ and _if I can help_ before drifting away. Athos stays with d’Artagnan. He’s distracted, tracking emotions more than words, but no one seems surprised at his lack of focus.

Emilie is mostly staying with her husband, and Porthos has rejoined them and is keeping an eye on the brother. There hasn’t been any trouble yet. Perhaps they’re both well mannered enough not to start anything here.

Athos is about to start trying to herd d’Artagnan into the house when Emilie’s daughter approaches, chewing on her lip. “Uncle Charles?”

“What is it, Margot?” He sounds exhausted. Athos makes a mental note to try and get him to sleep in Porthos’ bed. There won’t be any memories of Madeline in it, at least.

Margot bites her lip again before thrusting a handful of greenery at d’Artagnan. Athos catches the scent of rosemary as Charles accepts it, looking a little bemused. “Mama always says rosemary makes her feel better. I thought it might make you feel better, Uncle Charles.”

d’Artagnan buries his face in the greenery for a moment. “It does,” he says, voice muffled. “Thank you, Margot.” He kneels to draw her into a hug.

Athos quietly separates them after a minute, when d’Artagnan shows no sign of letting go. “Thank you, Margot. That was very thoughtful. Go back to your mama, now.” She goes, and he pulls d’Artagnan to his feet. “Keep your feet for another minute, d’Artagnan,” he murmurs. “Just that much.”

d’Artagnan keeps pace with him inside and through the halls, but he stumbles going up the stairs. Athos supports him the rest of the way to Porthos’ door. Aramis comes awake as they come in, sitting up in confusion.

“Lie back down,” Athos tells him, guiding d’Artagnan to sit. He pulls off boots and cape and belt and then guides him back into Aramis’ arms. d’Artagnan goes like a rag doll, curling into Aramis, one hand gripping his shirt.

Aramis is firmly gloved. He rubs d’Artagnan’s arm gently, murmuring nonsense in French and Spanish and Latin. d’Artagnan holds on, listening, eyes blank and dull.

Athos draws up a chair and settles himself to watch over them both.

 

“Why are you guilty?”

Athos looks up in surprise, but it’s aimed at Aramis. “I’m just sorry we didn’t make it in time.”

“You did your best. Almost killed yourselves trying.”

“If I had not left the garrison -”

d’Artagnan shakes his head. His eyes are closed. “It’s not as though you knew about us and left anyway. You had no reason to expect that we’d need you. Besides -” He raises his voice a little, and Aramis subsides, objection unvoiced. “If I had kept in better touch, you might have come to visit before leaving for Douai, and then you’d have been right here. If there’s blame, we share it equally.”

“If I had been able to help you more in the cell, if you’d not lost your Ability…”

d’Artagnan sits up; his back’s to Aramis, but he doesn’t seem angry. “If I’d not lost my Ability, Babette would not have been born. And I don’t regret her life. Only the length of it. I don’t blame you for anything, Aramis. I’ll tell you until you believe it.”

Aramis doesn’t answer. After a moment d’Artagnan turns to Athos. “How long can you stay?”

“Only another day or two,” Athos says reluctantly. “We have to catch the regiment before they reach the staging area. It’ll be a push as it is, I’m afraid.” Aramis is glaring at him. Athos doesn’t acknowledge the look. “If we could stay, d’Artagnan, you know we would. But Treville needs every able bodied man he can get.”

“I know,” d’Artagnan agrees, voice distant. “Perhaps you’ll come back this way.”

“There’s no ‘perhaps’. We will definitely be back this way again. And there’ll be letters.” That’s not a question, but d’Artagnan’s nodding.

“There’ll be letters,” he agrees. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to look for Emmy. She’ll be leaving soon, too.”

Athos nods, holding Aramis silent with a look until d’Artagnan is gone. “Well?”

“What are you _doing_ , Athos?” Aramis demands.

“I’m making sure he knows his options.”

“He has a life here. It’s not fair of us -”

“Does he have a life here?” Athos asks mildly. Aramis scowls, and Athos relents. “I’m not making any demands. I haven’t even mentioned it. It’s up to him.”

“It will be his choice?” Aramis presses. “God knows I want him with us too, but…”

“What I just said is all I will say on the matter, unless he asks me,” Athos promises. “I won’t force him, and even if he decides to come I will give him chances to change his mind. Fair?”

“Fair,” Aramis agrees reluctantly. “Now, if you’re not doing anything else, help me up. I’d like to see sky and get some fresh air.”

Athos helps him outside, keeping pace with him. d’Artagnan’s sitting with Emilie in the pavilion; Athos and Aramis keep away, but Athos is almost sure he sees tears on d’Artagnan’s face, and he can’t decide if that’s a good sign or not.

 

Porthos turns up eventually and takes Aramis off his hands. Emilie and d’Artagnan have long since vanished; Athos wanders aimlessly for a while before heading to the study. Perhaps Leroux will have something useful for him to do.

He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but d’Artagnan and Leroux seem to be talking about something important, and he hesitates, waiting for a break in the conversation to knock.

“...abandon them? Especially now? I could help them so much more now.”

“You would be helping them,” Leroux says, unruffled. “Only in another way. If Spain invades…”

“I know, I know. But…” A long pause, and Athos is on the verge of knocking when d’Artagnan continues, “I’ve just found my place here. And things are - they’re bad, now, but running from that is not - Starting over again?”

“You’d be with your brothers.”

“In a war.”

“War comes and war goes,” Leroux said philosophically. “Would you be happy here, knowing that they’re fighting on the border?”

Another long silence. “You’re very annoying.”

“Yes, sir. Shall I draft the papers?”

“You’d better, I suppose. Keep the staff on if you can. Find somewhere good for Odette, she worked hard and it’s not her fault we don’t need her any more. When Robert leaves at the end of the summer, look for Tristan. He worked for my father, he’ll be a good worker for you...and Sebastian, you understand about Sebastian?”

“I will endeavor to follow your lead in all things,” Leroux tells him. “And I hope that you will write to us, perhaps even return. This house is always open to you, whenever you need it.”

“Yes. Thank you, Leroux.”

“Shall I find the others so you can tell them?”

“No. Let’s write up the papers first. When it’s done - when it’s done, then I will.”

“Of course.” And then there’s nothing but the sound of quills on paper and quiet murmurs as the two work.

Athos steps away from the door, heads upstairs and slips into their room to think.

 

Emilie leaves the next day. Athos accepts her hug, thanking her quietly for her care of d’Artagnan.

“You just see that you take care of him now,” she orders.

“You have my word.”

“And take care of yourself, too.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Gustav brushes by. “Yes, do come and visit us sometime.”

Emilie shakes her head quietly, mouthing _don’t_. Athos bows obediently.

Margot trots up. “Mr Athos?”

“Yes?” He’s not sure if he’s meant to lean down to her or not, so he doesn’t.

“Are you staying here with Uncle Charles?”

“No. We’ve been summoned away and we’ll have to go tomorrow.” She looks disappointed. “Why?”

“I was going to ask you to pick some more rosemary when the ones he has dies.”

“I’ll ask the staff to make sure,” he promises. “It made him happy that you thought of that. It was very kind.”

She smiles, blushing, stammering something he can’t make out before hurrying over to her mother. Porthos is saying a solemn goodbye to Julien. d’Artagnan and Emilie talk quietly for a moment before he kisses her cheek and helps her into the carriage. Porthos swings Julien up and helps Margot in, bowing politely.

d’Artagnan comes back to stand beside Athos, watching as the carriage draws away. “When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

He nods. “I’ll be ready.” He turns away, heading into the house and leaving them alone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because this was always meant as a trilogy, one of the boys had to draw the short straw when it came to POV: sadly, it was Porthos in this case, so he just gets this little epilogue. Sorry, Porthos!
> 
>  
> 
> For anyone who missed it over on (creatures), wildforce has invited anyone who's interested in writing in the 'verse to contact her at powersauthor(at)gmail(dot)com to discuss it.

Porthos is the first one down to the yard the next morning. Edmond and Sebastian have the horses ready; Madame Dupont has them loaded down with supplies for the trip. Leroux comes to see if there’s anything he can do to help.

Athos has arrived and they’re waiting on Aramis when d’Artagnan comes out, wrapped in a cloak against the morning chill. “Everything ready?” he asks, joining them. “I told Madame Dupont to make sure you had everything you needed.”

“We’re so packed up we’ll be lucky to make any distance,” Porthos assures him.

d’Artagnan fiddles with the edge of his cloak. “Well, maybe another horse to share the load would help?”

Porthos stares at him. He doesn’t dare say what he’s thinking, in case he’s wrong.

“d’Artagnan?” Athos asks.

d’Artagnan lets his arms drop. He’s holding his pauldron in one hand. “Somehow this ended up in my saddlebag,” he says, eyes flicking between them.

Athos steps forward, taking it from him and threading it up his arm. “Well, since it ended up with you, it’s clearly meant for you.”

d’Artagnan smiles gratefully. “Everything’s taken care of here. I’m ready to come with you. If you want me.”

Athos squeezes his shoulder without speaking.

“What Athos means is, of _course_ we want you,” Porthos says briskly.

Aramis joins them just as Sebastian comes around the house leading d’Artagnan’s horse. He grins at the sight, but he doesn’t look especially surprised.

“You knew something we didn’t?” Porthos demands.

“No,” Aramis says loftily. “I’m just better at hiding my feelings than you are.”

“That’s what you think,” d’Artagnan mutters, but he’s grinning, loose and relaxed. “Come on. Let’s get going.” He takes one of Porthos’ saddlebags with a grin, slinging it onto his own horse and mounting up. The staff have come to watch them off; d’Artagnan waves, bowing to them.

“Need a minute, lad?” Porthos asks.

“I’ve spoken with them already. I’m ready to go.”

Athos mounts, starting towards the gate. Aramis follows, maintaining the lofty air; Porthos considers shying a stone at him, but in the end he just mounts up, following his brothers to war.


End file.
